I think what I’m really truly searching for right now is “home.”
I mean, who isn’t, right?
When I google the word “home” the first thing that pops up is Google maps and the address of my parents’ house. It made me laugh a little bit because that house no longer feels like home.
[And yes, I did that very clichéd thing and googled “home” to try and give you all a definition of it, as if you don’t already know.]
At least, it’s not the home I belong in, not anymore.
Google also tells me that home is “a place where one lives permanently.” I suppose that’s not really the definition of “home” that I’m looking for either. I’m young enough where I wouldn’t mind moving around, seeing the world. I’m not quite ready to settle down. Get stability, yes. But settle down, no.
I guess the home I’m looking for is more about belonging, about purpose. It’s more about a feeling in your bones than a label of permanence. It’s about the life that you get from the air that you breathe or the energy you feel from the people around you.
Perhaps I’m talking nonsense now. Perhaps I’m feeding into that irresistible idea that if I could only find that city, that place where I’m supposed to be, then, then I could be happy. A beautiful notion, of stumbling upon that cluster of roads and buildings that will give you meaning but also a foolish one – because no matter how far I travel, if I go all the way to the other coast or even dare to go further, my problems will follow me. A new city isn’t golden ticket to new found happiness, it won’t erase my emotional baggage.
Oh but wouldn’t it be great to trade in these same old tired streets for another set? A louder set, a busier set, hell even a dirtier set perhaps. To trade in the cactuses and mesquite trees for skyscrapers or pine trees.
I’ve never realized how unsettled I was to not have a “home.” It was such a comfort that I took for granted when I had it.
People say that “home is where the heart it.” Well my heart is spread all across the world. In Arizona, in the Philippines, in California, in New Jersey and in Nebraska – the places where all the people who hold my heart are. So where do I really belong, where is my home if my heart is spread so thin?
I suppose the answer is that I have to start making a home for myself. But I think for me, most of all, home is the people. And I have yet to find my people in this next stage of life, in this post-college adventure.
I’m turning 24 in just a few days and for some reason that age feels so heavy. 24 feels like an age where one should know what they want in life and be well on their way to achieving that.
Perhaps I’m just experiencing my “quarter-life crisis” a bit early.
So I hope in 2017 I find a “home.” Maybe not the idealized version I’m picturing in my head, but I hope I’m brave enough to find a new “home” this year.